Strong?
by Couture Girl
Summary: Eleven-year old Theodore Nott doesn't think highly of himself, but that will change when strange people-no more like an object and a magical creature tell him that he is strong. Maybe he is strong after all.


**Written for kci47's 'Secondary Character Challenge' in HPFC. **

**Hogwarts student- Theodore Nott **

**Creature-Number Four: Firenze (Centaur)**

**Other-Number Two: the Fat Lady (Portrait)**

**Prompt-Sunset**

**Reading the directions, I did this so wrong, but I don't regret it, because I enjoyed writing this, so forgive me kci47. For not being able to read correctly. Hope you enjoy it though**

**I want to thank my awesome beta: Hyper Caz, who looked this over and Sara Darkotter, who helped me with the owl reference. Sara this one-shot is dedicated to you.**

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The eleven-year-old Theodore Nott was walking around the dungeons of his new home. Finally he was safe. Sighing in content, he continued to walk through the dungeons. He looked around; these dungeons were different from the ones back at the manor. First of all, they didn't smell of blood and death. They smelled of potions, ink, fresh parchment, mud, food and students. Theo felt safe here, and he thanked Merlin that he had been accepted into Hogwarts – he was now far away from that hateful and crazy man he called father.

He wouldn't suffer any of his crazy "training" anymore – well, only in the Christmas, Easter and summer breaks. But now he wouldn't have to endure it for more than a month. Nott didn't even miss his father; Theo only missed his house elf Milly. She had taken care of him since his mother's death. He had sent a single letter to the old man, telling him that he had been placed in Slytherin – as was expected of him.

His father just replied back that he now didn't have to pass through the embarrassment of him being placed in Hufflepuff, since his son had been placed in the same house as him and his grandfather and so forth. The "training" had yielded an excellent result. Theodore's long fingers went to the scars on his neck, and then to the ones on his hands. When he wore his school robes, these were the only scars that could be seen. It had been three weeks since he had come here and no one had noticed, not even the Professors. Well, maybe they had, but maybe they just turned a blind eye.

But who wouldn't? He was very tall for his age, and weedy. But he would hunch so he looked strange. His arms were longer than his already long skinny legs. Theodore had sort of a mousy look to him, and his green eyes were like sapphires, always squinted, never shown properly. His body was covered with scars from the various "training" his father had forced on him. None showed on his pale face, though.

Looking around he noticed he was now by the Gryffindor Common Room. This happened a lot. Nott would walk around the castle, caught up inside his own mind, and no one would stop him, not even the ghosts or portraits. He was invisible, and he liked that – it gave him a sense of being different. Instead of people, ghosts and portraits paying attention to him, he would be the one paying attention, learning about them. Of course, no words were spoken; it was more to do with studying faces, names and how they acted.

Physical communication gave more away about a person than words. From his observations, Theodore knew who wanted to be Quidditch Captain, who hid their depression and who were hypocrites, bookworms, cowards, snobs, etc. So he decided he wouldn't need friends in this ancient castle. Theodore didn't need those kinds of people; he was fine being alone with his thoughts. He studied Transfiguration and found a way to hide his scars, but he didn't use it because they would transfigure into freckles and he didn't want to be seen as an estranged Weasley.

"Dear Godric!" a warm concerned voice sounded, making him look up from the stone floor. He saw the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor Tower. They called her "The Fat Lady". "My boy, but what has happened to your neck?" she asked.

Nott frowned, his hands going to his neck, feeling his scars. Oh yeah. He had thought it was something else; maybe Peeves had painted his neck blue or something.

"Your hands!" the Portrait exclaimed. Nott was confused. Why was she acting like this? He had scars – big deal, he didn't care, so why would she? "Come here," she said, her pudgy hand waving to him.

Theodore didn't know why he obeyed, but he did. His narrowed emerald eyes took in the Fat Lady; she wore a pink silk dress that made her curly chocolate hair look even more elegant. She sat as a Queen would sit. The only thing that she needed to complete the image was a crown.

"My dear boy, has someone attacked you?" she whispered in concern. Her voice reminded him of his mother – his dead mother.

His eyes looked down and he shook his head in denial.

"Nonsense, someone has! Those scars look awful as if they had cut you – " She stopped talking and realized the truth in what she was saying. "What is your name?" Her concerned voice was now motherly, as if she were talking to her son who had died when he was just a small child.

He looked up, hearing the tone of her voice, and he couldn't quite figure what category he could put her in. She wasn't in the gossip category, that was for sure.

"Theodore Nott," the Slytherin boy answered, standing up straight, his head held up high. Now the Fat Lady would tell him to run off and that he deserved the scars for being a snake – then he would be able to categorize her.

She surprised him with a warm smile. "You're Katherine's little boy."

Theodore's eyes widened at hearing his mother's name. "She was in Ravenclaw – how do you know her?" His voice sounded curious and alive. He craved to know more about his mum, and she had left without telling him so many things.

The Fat Lady's smile widened in a mischievous manner, as if she were keeping a secrets. "Oh, Katherine spent a lot time in the Gryffindor common room."

Theodore quirked an eyebrow and he knew that she wouldn't say any more on the matter.

"My name is Abra Caverly, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Theodore. You have your mother's eyes."

Nott smiled genuinely at her. And he was about to ask her more about his mother but then he heard Potter's voice along with the sounds of that horrid Weasel and the bushy-haired girl that followed them around. Abra smiled. "Come by anytime, Theodore. The son of Katherine is always welcomed here." She continued to smile at him. Nott nodded, in awe. The Fat La-no, Lady Caverly was someone who had Theodore in a state of astonishment. No one was this nice to him.

And why would they be? His father was an ex-Death Eater who still waited with anxious longing for the return of the Dark Lord, and Theodore was a Slytherin. The only people who were somewhat nice were Professor McGonagall, but she was polite, and Dumbledore, but he was a crazy old man.

Taking a deep breath he nodded and left. Guess he had found a friend.

…

Months had passed and Theodore Nott always made time to talk with Lady Caverly or – as she always told him to call her – Abra. Theodore enjoyed their talks and didn't think he was a loon for speaking to a portrait. They would talk mostly about how he was doing in school, which he was excelling at, and if he had made any friends at all – only Draco Malfoy, but he was an acquaintance, not a friend. What Theodore wanted to know more of, but Abra wouldn't say much about, was his mother.

Whenever he tried ask her about his mother's years at Hogwarts, Abra would just say that she was a very bright witch, kind and loving. Nott was tired of hearing this; he already knew that his mother had been all that and more. If the Fat Lady knew so much about his mother, maybe she knew how someone so kind and loving and bright could have married someone so dark and cruel and sadistic?

When he tried to ask this, Lady Caverly just looked at him with sad eyes and whispered, "There are some things that are not meant to be known just yet." Her small pudgy hands fidgeted while she touched her hair, trying to act natural, but it just made Theodore frustrated.

"When?" he asked. Huffing, he looked around and lowered his voice, "Is it so bad that I cannot know?" Theodore's mind traveled to dark places, imagining his father forcing his mother into marriage or, worse, that she had wanted to marry the old man.

Then she tried to change the subject – again. Nott's patience broke. "Enough. I'm tired, I want to know about my mother and you keep repeating the same thing over and over again," he hissed.

His hands were fists, making them look paler, but his scars stood out even more. The Fat Lady eyes looked sad at this. Theodore glared, seeing that she was not going to say any more. Taking a deep breath he turned around and left, his school robes billowing after him.

He sought refuge in a clearing he had found in the Forbidden Forest. Theodore knew that it was forbidden, but ever since his second day at Hogwarts, he had decided to take a look around and found that if you were smart you could survive the Forest. As he sat, his bony fingers touched the grass, pulling the blades from their home. His mouth was set in a frown. He thought that he had been rather rude to Lady Caverly, who he considered to be his only friend in this ancient castle. The wind blew, messing up his hair, and though he was present physically, his mind was far away.

Then he heard what he assumed were the feet of a horse, but he remembered reading in _Hogwarts: A History_ about the Forbidden Forest. There were no horses in here – unless it was a unicorn or a centaur.

Nott looked up, seeing that it was late afternoon now. The sunset was had begun but he couldn't quite enjoy it because blocking his view was a centaur with silver-blonde hair, astonishingly blue eyes and skin even paler than Nott's, so pale that it seemed to be a replica of the Mafloys'. He had thought he would feel scared, even tense, but no. Theodore felt calm and somewhat indifferent.

"Young Nott, you should not be here, for this is the land of my people and the wizarding community cannot set foot here," the centaur said.

Theo sat straight, his green eyes opening a bit. He had come here at various times, and not one centaur had come and disturbed him. The centaur looked up. "Theodore Nott, one day you will shine through and be the man you are meant to be, but for this to happen dark circumstances must arise and make you fall. You will need to stand up, and that will show everyone and yourself that you are strong."

Theodore didn't speak. What could he say? He was twelve and he knew himself so well. Dark circumstances had surrounded him since he was a baby. He wasn't strong; he was weak. And everyone ignored him as if he didn't exist – he was _nothing_. It was as if his father's voice was saying these things, reminding him of his place.

The centaur continued to talk, "Open your eyes and you will see that you are what you are meant to be. You are like an owl, silent and swift. Few people will notice you pass, but with this you do good. You, Theodore Nott, you are watchful and see behind their masks and you are the messenger bearing their secrets and omens. You come from a dark family but you will free yourself and be part of the world of light. Your ability to shift objects and yourself will save a life that you treasure."

This was frustrating Theodore more and more. Standing up, he looked at the centaur, forgetting that he could be hurt for simply being on the centaur's land, for simply being a wizard. But even if he did remember, he didn't care.

"Who do you think you are? You don't know anything," Theodore hissed angrily, his body shaking. He knew what he was. He didn't need someone – or something for that matter – to tell him what he could be if he had just a little bit faith in himself.

The elegant centaur looked at him with understanding eyes.

Theodore saw pity in that look, because it was the same way the Fat Lady had looked at him. And he disliked that – no, he hated that. Pity. He hated that when someone actually looked at him, they would look at him with pity. Poor Theodore Nott, the son that Abelard Nott never wanted. The motherless Theodore Nott who had witnessed his poor mother's death. The pureblood boy that lived like an animal, tortured by his own father since he was a toddler. Those scars could be seen but no one wanted to recognize it. Why should they? Especially when someone more important was near, like Harry Potter. Now that boy had suffered far greater things than Theodore Nott. So why should people feel compassion or even help and be kind to him, when poor Harry had never known his parents and lived with muggles?

So they would see Theodore with a face that said, 'Suck it up. And move on. You're after all a pureblood, a son of a Death Eater. You're supposed to get used to it.'

What a pity, indeed.

"I am Firenze, and I speak of what I see, young Theodore Nott," the centaur spoke to him with a face full of knowledge. "And you should feel proud of yourself for surviving this long; you are much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You will be great in your own way, and some people may hate you, even fear you, but others will love and admire you for your strength. Be patient and you will see, Theodore Nott."

Theodore's mouth was dry. No one had spoken to him like this. He wanted to tell the centaur something, anything, but what could he say? That it wasn't true, that he was as weak as a twig that you could easily snap? No, he couldn't say that; it was too weak, even for him. But Theo would never tell his companion this, for in that moment he heard various shouts from what he presumed were centaurs. Firenze looked at him. "Leave, Theodore Nott. You are a wizard and my kind don't react well when when one comes to our lands."

Nott was smart, he had a brain, and he was human. And in every human being there is a natural instinct to survive. His green eyes wide, he turned around without questioning Firenze. After all, he had read that centaurs would kill wizards or witches. They didn't kill the young or innocents that were in their land, but Theodore wasn't innocent. He had lived a life that would make anyone mature.

Theodore Nott didn't look back. He looked forward, past the trees of the Forbidden Forest. His long twiggy legs took him back to Hogwarts and his scrawny arms pushed aside the bushes that blocked his way. It was dark now but it seemed that he could see clearly as if he was an owl flying through the forest. And when he finally reached the half-giant's hut, he stopped and breathed like he had been deprived air for all his life. His mind was still on what the centaur had said about him. Could it be true?

Licking his thin lips, he looked at the castle that would be his home for the next seven years, while his chest heaved. Maybe, just maybe, it could be true. After all, he had survived his father's hell and he was finally in the place he had wanted to be since he was eight years old. He was finally safe. His mother had told him that anything was possible when you set your mind to it. And he would set his mind to it.

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**An: Hope you liked it and please review on your thoughts. If you favorite at least review ;)**


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